Rebo and Phan pulled back on their reins as the rough-looking woman appeared in front of them. The bridge was tended by monks, or so they’d been told, but there was nothing godly about the creature who stood before them. Strands of gray-brown hair hung from under a cone-shaped fur hat that was bald in places. The woman’s canvas coat bore multiple patches, one grubby knee was visible through a hole in the baggy pants that she wore, and her boots were caked with mud. “Hold it right there,” the apparition ordered loftily. “How would you like to pay the bridge toll? Cash on the barrelhead? Or with some of whatever’s on that cart?” The vehicle in question had arrived by then, which meant that Norr was only fifty feet away, and in a good position to witness what transpired next.
“How much is the toll?” Rebo asked reasonably, hoping to pay a few gunnars.
“Five cronos,” the bandit replied unhesitatingly. “Or, half of what’s on the cart.”
The runner’s hands were on the saddle’s pommel only inches from his guns. “That’s absurd,” he countered. “Step out of the way . . . We’re coming through.”
“No,” Tova responded levelly. “You aren’t.”
That was when the six ruffians emerged from the hut to form a semicircle behind their leader. The threat was obvious, and the bandit chieftain knew she had the upper hand. Especially since the heavy was still on the cart and in no position to interfere. “Get down off those animals,” she ordered. “You and your friends will be walking from now on. And watch where you put those hands.”
“No.” Phan had been silent up until then. Now, as the other runner spoke, Rebo realized that she had thrown her cape back over her shoulders. But, before he could wonder why, Phan spoke again. Her voice was pitched low, but every word was distinct. “Tell your people to return to the hut. Do it now, and I’ll let you live.”
Tova was surprised. She was expecting trouble from the heavy, or the man with the hard eyes, but not the play pretty in the cape. Not that it mattered since it was time to go for her guns. The thought left her brain, but never arrived at her hands, which made an instinctive grab for her throat. Because that’s where a six-inch-long throwing spike protruded from her larynx.
Though not fatal in and of itself, the injury was a shock and prevented Tova from issuing further orders. That was unfortunate since all the members of the band had been told not to kill anyone without their chieftain’s express permission. The problem was rendered moot by the fact that three of them were dead by then, spikes protruding from their eye sockets, each having been thrown by Phan.
That was when the Hogger went off and one of the remaining bandits was snatched off her feet. Both of the surviving brigands fired weapons of their own. A rifle slug went wide, but pellets from a sawed-off shotgun struck Phan’s angen and caused the beast to shy sideways. Rebo pulled the Crosser, and was in the process of bringing the weapon into firing position, when Phan lifted one leg up over her animal’s neck and jumped to the ground. The remaining bandits both stood motionless and bug-eyed as the woman marched straight at them. Norr felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, and had already shouted, “No!” when the runner whirled. Heads jerked sideways, and sheets of blood flew, as two carefully honed knives sliced through leather, wool, and unwashed flesh. There was something beautiful about the movement, and something horrible, too, since there had been no signs of further resistance from either victim.
Three long seconds passed as a cold breeze rumbled across the plain, tugged at the no-longer-legible sign that dangled in front of the hut, and sang through the durasteel cables that kept the bridge aloft. And it was then, during what felt like a short eternity, that Tova managed to remove the spike from her throat. That proved to be a mistake, however, since once the plug was removed, a quantity of blood spurted out of the hole. But there was still time for revenge. Or so it seemed to Tova, because her world had slowed, and it now seemed as though there was time for everything.
In spite of the fact that both of the bandit chieftain’s hands were slippery with blood, she still managed to pull both pistols and was busy hauling the hammers back when Phan realized how exposed she was. Rebo saw the movement, initiated what promised to be a lengthy turn to the right, and knew he wouldn’t make it in time. Not before at least two shots had been fired at Phan.
But it wasn’t to be. Both Norr and Hoggles had exited the cart by then and come forward to help. Though still reeling from the manner in which Phan had executed two of the bandits, Norr was in a perfect position to see the bandit leader remove the spike, and knew that no one else could stop the woman from firing. The sensitive took two steps forward, twisted her staff in order to unlock it, and pulled the vibro blade free. Power flowed as she thumbed the switch, the sword sizzled as it swept through the air, and Norr barely felt the momentary resistance as the blade passed through Tova’s neck.
The bandit’s fingers jerked convulsively, followed by two loud reports as the pistols fired. The bandit’s head made a soft thump as it hit the ground and rolled away from the cone-shaped hat. Despite its considerable size, there was nothing more than a gentle rustle as Tova’s body swayed and collapsed.
One of the bullets from the bandit chieftain’s gun had blown air into Phan’s right ear as it whizzed past her head. Now, as she looked at Norr, it was with a newfound sense of respect. “Well,” she said calmly. “The spook has teeth. . . . Who would have guessed?”
Norr thumbed the power switch into the OFF position and returned the weapon to its wooden scabbard while wondering if she’d done the right thing. What if the killing blow had been withheld for two seconds? Would Phan lie dead? And would she be happy rather than sad?
Rebo looked from one woman to the other. The animosity was clear to see. That meant he would have to take sides at some point. Norr was the obvious choice. Hell, Norr was the only choice. So why not signal his allegiance now? A snowflake twirled before landing on his nose, and the question was left unanswered. “All right,” Rebo said, as his breath fogged the air. “Let’s take a few minutes to search both the bodies and the huts for anything we can use or trade. . . . I want to cross the bridge before nightfall. Who knows? There could be more bandits on the other side.”
It was an unpleasant albeit necessary task because travelers who failed to scavenge what they could were likely to regret the omission later. It took a full fifteen minutes to complete the job, and by the time it was over Rebo noticed that not only had Phan retrieved all of her throwing spikes, but appropriated the bandit chieftain’s revolvers as well. There was something cold-blooded about the way the other runner went about the chore, but Rebo knew it was hypocritical to criticize Phan for carrying out his orders, and made a point out of thanking her for what she’d done.
The female runner smiled warmly, and once the others were ready, the twosome rode out onto the bridge deck together. It was difficult to see the bottom of the canyon without venturing out to the edge of the ancient span, but Rebo had an impression of a ribbon of white water, bordered by sheer rock walls. Norr had saddled the fifth angen by then, but rather than attempt to ride with the runners, she chose to follow behind them instead. The cart brought up the rear, and it wasn’t long before a swirl of thickly falling snow swallowed them all.
What remained of the filtered daylight was nearly gone, and the dead lay under a layer of shroudlike snow by the time Shaz, Dyson, and the four metal men arrived at the bridge. Shaz pulled back on the reins, brought his heavily encumbered angen to a halt, and eyed the wild sprawl of bodies. “Check the huts,” he said coldly. “Bring anyone you find out to me. . . . And let me know if you come across any food. We need to make our supplies last.”
The heavily armed robots scattered in response to the combat variant’s orders even as the operative dismounted and handed his reins to Dyson. Then, starting with the nearest corpse, Shaz made a careful examination of each body. The task was gruesome, but necessary, in order to determine whether any of the AI’s escorts had been killed. The inspection was useful in a
nother way, too, because after looking at the means by which the bandits had been dispatched, it quickly became apparent that Phan had been responsible for most of the kills. That meant the assassin was earning her pay—something that pleased him.
Dyson sat atop his animal with both eyes closed as a mantle of white continued to gather around his shoulders. Most of the spirit entities forced out of their bodies during the battle had chosen to depart the physical vibration by then, but one, a woman who identified herself as Mia Tova, still remained. She was confused, especially about the loss of her head, and wondered if that would present a problem in the spirit planes. The sensitive counseled the woman that it was within her power to adopt any appearance that she chose—and urged her to leave the scene for life in the higher realms. After a moment of hesitation, and in the company of a spirit she seemed to recognize, Tova departed.
That was when Dyson opened his eyes to discover that Shaz was standing a few feet away staring at him. The combat variant seemed to blur before rolling back into focus. “Are you with us?” the operative inquired. “Good. We’ll spend the night here. The metal men will take care of the angens. Our hosts left some stew simmering in a pot—so we might as well take advantage of it.”
The sensitive slid to the ground, handed both sets of reins over to one of the heavily cowled androids, and followed Shaz toward a stone hut. When he passed Tova’s snow-frosted head, the bandit’s deep-set eyes seemed to follow him. That was impossible, of course, but Dyson was careful not to disturb the bandit leader’s headless body as he stepped over it, and was grateful when the hut opened to receive him. Meanwhile, many miles away, a night slider howled. The sound seemed to float on the cold air before being echoed by other such creatures, as if to herald the full fall of darkness.
SIX
The Planet Derius
Even though sensitives can see that which others cannot, they often seem blind where their own lives are concerned, and make the same sort of mistakes that norms do.
—Grand Vizier Horga Entube, The History Of My People
The road to Feda was long and hard. Especially during the winter. Having emerged victorious from the confrontation with the bandits on the west side of the bridge, Rebo, Norr, Hoggles, and Phan crossed the span ready to do battle again. Fortunately that wasn’t necessary since the holy men assigned to the eastern approach had either been chased away or killed. So the first night was spent there, within the relative comfort of two huts, while the snow continued to fall beyond the stone walls.
The storm had passed by the time a dimly seen sun rose in the east, but it was bitterly cold, and the angens complained loudly as they struggled to pull the heavily loaded cart up onto the road. Then, with Rebo, Norr, and Phan breaking trail for the animals, the huge disk-shaped wheels cut deep grooves into the virgin snow.
There was a long way to go, but Rebo managed to put that out of his mind, as his mount carried him up through low-lying hills, through a stand of bristle trees, and onto the plain beyond. It was slow work, but the runner had learned to accept such things over the years, and fell into a plodding reverie that lasted until the pale yellow sun hung high in the sky. Eventually, the group paused for what Hoggles referred to as “a brew-up” in the lee of the cart.
The hot caf not only tasted good but served to wash down the fry cakes that Norr made up each morning. They consisted of cooked cereal, dried fruit, and nuts. The cakes tasted better hot, but none of them wanted to go to the trouble of making a fire, so the rations were consumed cold. The sensitive noticed that Hoggles consumed six of them, Rebo ate two, and Phan barely nibbled at hers.
Once their stomachs were full, it was time to rotate the animals so that the team that had been harnessed to the cart had a chance to recuperate. As soon as that chore was complete, Hoggles whistled through his teeth, the single axle squealed, and the angens issued a series of throaty grunts as they made their way forward.
There wasn’t much traffic on the road, although tracks were visible from time to time, especially as they entered or left one of the tiny farming villages that crouched between protective hills. Most houses were low one-story affairs that were made of rammed earth and could withstand even the worst storms. Smoke dribbled from their chimneys, and the occasional mongrel gave chase as the group plodded past, but people were rarely seen. It was a rare stranger that brought something good to the farmers’ footsteps—so they had learned to be wary.
There were other sightings, too, some of which harkened back to ancient times, when gigantic machines rode gleamingrails, electric power jumped pylon to pylon, and powerful rivers were held captive behind canyon-spanning dams. Such artifacts weren’t operational of course, but often served as media for semiliterate antitechnic diatribes, a fact that struck Norr as ominous. Especially given the true nature of the coat she wore beneath the long poncho-style cloak.
But most of the scenery was simply monotonous. The road was an endless ribbon of crusty snow, the wind moaned like a lost soul, and time seemed to crawl by. Eventually, after what seemed like an eon but was only about twelve hours of riding, the foursome began to look for a place to spend the night. An inn would have been nice, but the only one they’d seen was two hours back, which left the travelers with no choice but to take advantage of whatever shelter they could find. In this case it was the ruins of what had once been a farm. What remained of the tumbledown house provided protection for the cart and animals—which left the humans to take up residence in the stone silo that stood next to the main structure. The presence of a rudimentary fire pit located at the center of the circular space suggested that the structure had been used for that purpose before. And, when Rebo volunteered to gather firewood, Norr offered to accompany him. Phan, who was occupied unpacking the pots and pans, watched from the corner of her eye.
A frigid breeze sought to find its way in through gaps in their clothing as the twosome emerged from cover. The half-frozen snow crunched under their boots as they circled the silo and followed a half-seen path down into an ancient orchard where fruit trees stood in patient rows, as if still waiting for the people who planted them to return. Some were dead, and their brittle branches made what sounded like pistol shots as Rebo bent them to the breaking point and was showered with ice crystals. Once a knee-high pile of wood had been accumulated, the runner and the sensitive stood side by side as they worked to reduce the long rough-barked limbs into more manageable lengths. Norr was the first to speak. “Jak . . .”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think of Phan?”
Rebo shrugged noncommittally. “The woman can fight . . . You’ve got to grant her that.”
“And I do,” the variant replied, as she broke a branch over her knee.
The runner gave Norr a sidelong glance. “So? What’s the problem?”
The sensitive paused. “I can’t prove it, but I think she’s lying.”
Rebo’s eyebrows rose. “Lying? About what?”
“I don’t know,” the variant confessed. “But the feeling is there.”
The runner nodded. “I trust your instincts, Lonni. You know that. . . . But you aren’t infallible.”
The conversation was headed where Norr had feared that it might go, and her chin trembled slightly. “And you believe this is one of those times?”
“I don’t know,” Rebo answered carefully. “But it’s possible. . . . First, why would Phan lie? What could she gain? But let’s say she is lying. . . . Chances are that the lies have nothing to do with us. Don’t forget that we lie constantly and make no apologies for doing so.”
Rebo’s explanation was so reasonable, so benign, that Norr felt silly. She forced a smile. “Don’t let this go to your head, but there are times when you’re right.”
“Right about what?” The voice came from behind them, and both whirled, only to find Phan standing a few feet away. Somehow, by a means not apparent, the other runner had been able to approach them without making a sound. But if the sensitive thought that was stran
ge, it seemed as if Rebo didn’t, because the runner smiled. “Another pair of arms! Just what we need. . . . Here, have a bundle of kindling.”
Phan accepted the wood, but even though she smiled pleasantly, the colors that flowed around her were murky and dark. A fact that served to reactivate the sensitive’s concerns and made Norr suspicious all over again.
Having monitored the entire conversation from his position beneath Norr’s cloak, Logos took note of the sensitive’s suspicions regarding Phan and came to the conclusion that it would be a good idea to keep a nonexistent eye on the newcomer. Because if the female truly was something other than what she seemed, then her presence could very easily have something to do with him, a subject AI was always interested in.
There was no sunset as such, just a gradual diminution of light, as the threesome carried the firewood back to the silo. The night passed peacefully for the most part, although the angens stirred at one point, as if they were aware of something that the humans weren’t. And when morning came, and Rebo went out to look around, the runner saw what looked like human tracks in the snow. They appeared to originate up on the road and circled the ruins once before returning to the main thoroughfare. A local perhaps? Keeping an eye on the neighborhood? Or something more sinister? There was no way to know.
Thus began a series of long, almost identical days that varied only in terms of how much snow fell, slight variations in the scenery, and brief contacts with other travelers. Once, while checking their back trail from the top of a pass, Rebo saw six dots in the far distance. But the purpose of a road is to carry traffic, so there was no reason to be alarmed, or so it seemed to him.
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